Angel of Deception
by Bureau 13
Summary: A night in the dungeon reveals more than Harry could possibly have imagined.
1. The Deception

**Angel of Deception**

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><p>Mature Version of <em>Let's Start at Hello<em>

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><p>As she pulled away from the kiss, she rested her head in the nook of his neck. The skin of her cheek gently brushed against his; a soft flow of warm breath traced its way around Hermione's body. The outline of her perfect breasts caused his breath to hitch and his heart to skip a beat. As Harry looked into her eyes, he realised that they were not the kind, loving brown eyes that normally accompanied her beautiful smile. Instead, they were alight with dancing flames, a building passion literally visible in the little light the room provided them. He would make this mean everything.<p>

"Harry," he heard her whisper and could feel his heart begin to race. Her voice was different than usual, almost desperate. He ran his hand through her hair, then traced her jawline to her lips. There was no doubting that he'd noticed it before, yet something about her beauty astounded him. She stood more confidently, more nobly.

Though he could see fear in her eyes, it was a fear he had not seen there before. It appeared that for once in her life, her worries about her school work had escaped her. She took a step forward and kissed him like he had never been kissed before. It was not wet like Cho's nor dramatic like Ginny's. It was sweet and loving, shared between friends where no one could see. It was electrifying.

As her body began to move against his, something inside him came alive, a beast awoke and began to feast on his every emotion. He could feel the blood flow to his brain slow gradually as it was redirected for more pressing matters. His body awakened; every subtle gesture, every silent breath drew him closer to the definition of perfection placed so magnificently before him.

Harry found himself in a losing battle against his heart and his own body. Everything inside told him to show his best friend just how much he truly cared for her, yet something in the dark recesses of his consciousness slowed his motions. He could see the glittering reflection in her eyes as the moon cast its faint glow through the windows above them. He reached for his belt buckle to find her hands had beat them to it. She made short work of his clothing, practically ripping it off him as she fought to feel his nakedness against hers.

The room was nearly empty. There were a few pillows and cushions scattered about and a large armchair in the corner. It was simple – and that's precisely why it was so perfect. The Room of Requirement knew the only thing they _really_ needed was each other. Their wands laid forgotten near the entrance, cast aside quicker than their clothing.

Hermione was acting in a way he had only imagined and assumed he would only experience so fully in his most vivid of dreams. She was overflowing with an intense passion; he could feel it in her silky skin.

He caressed her exposed belly with the tips of his fingers. Her delicate body quivered at his touch; her mind was freed from its constant string of thoughts, its needless burden of worry. As his hand wandered further, it found only smooth skin and a baby blue pair of lace knickers. She had prepared for this; she was always prepared. Harry mused that, perhaps, she had played this moment in her mind a million times, lived it in hundreds of dreams since they met – like he had. He began to strip the last of her clothing with his teeth, casting her chastity's last defence to the floor. Now she was ready.

He couldn't remember their original reasons for coming down here and suspected that she couldn't either. He soon discovered that he really didn't care. There was a beautiful girl beneath him, her bare posterior ready to be ridden against the cold stone floor. He kissed her once and again – at first tenderly, then with great passion. Her hands went to his waist, and he knew she was ready. He could see it in her eyes.

She let out a soft 'oh' as the most important part of his anatomy graced her sacred opening. Her head titled backward, her hips raised slightly in anticipation. At first he lowered himself slowly, trying to be gentle – he didn't want to hurt her. As the seconds slipped by, however, lust took over and his pace quickened. Every sound she made – every moan, every gasp took him closer and closer to climax.

She was squirming, writhing against him, forcing him deeper and deeper into her moist nether. Their rhythm was a blend of need and desperation, each of them intent on driving the other toward their undoing, neither wanting to reach orgasm before the other. It was a feat they would reach together.

The gorgeous woman beneath him whispered a few nonsensical things and mumbled a word or two, then began to scream his name as the bliss of passion overcame her. The spasms and tightness within her core caused Harry to lose control. He thrust faster and harder until his seed spilled inside her, further moistening her heavenly folds.

Whatever trick she had pulled, it had worked. He had just made love to his best friend. It was a line between them that could never be uncrossed. They had shared their feelings as intimately as mortals could. It would take them some time to redefine their relationship so that others would understand, Harry knew, but this moment shared between them changed everything.

Harry was blissfully aware of her body beneath him. He was still inside her and wanted to never have to leave. _So this __is how it feels__ to be in love, _he thought to himself, kissing her deeply_. _When their lips parted, she groaned softly under his weight, but pulled him closer, until his head rested between her soft breasts. After a mere moment's rest, Harry lifted himself up, just slightly, to thank her with another kiss.

As his lips met hers once again, he realised it was not Hermione who lay beneath him. Her hair was darker, silkier, and straighter that Hermione's; her lips thinner and darker. The eyes were brighter, somehow more inviting. The skin was softer, smoother; the contours of her body fit more naturally with his.

He whispered her name softly, staring at her in shock as he took to his knees. "Pansy?" She fidgeted beneath him; the panic that shot through her was evident. As she fought to escape, Harry held her gently in place. Rather than anger, he felt a different emotion well within him. A few repressed memories had come to the front of his mind. He put his hand on her arm. She gasped, then swallowed thickly. He had not always harboured negative feelings for this witch.

"Don't hurt me," she pleaded, closing her eyes as she braced herself for the worst. Her nakedness made her feel all the more vulnerable. That much was more than evident. She trembled at his touch. Her sweat-slickened skin glistened in the moonlight as she tilted her head back in surrender. She held her breath, waiting for a slap or some other form of physical violence. When it didn't come, she opened her eyes to find her hands in his.

Harry found himself puzzled, yet impressed all the same. This was hardly the war-hardened Slytherin girl that he'd seen parading through the corridors all year. He realised then that he'd always been attracted to her; attraction is exclusive of allegiance. Yet it was her association with Draco that had originally dissuaded him, caused his interest in her to fall hastily downward to absolute nothingness. Her blatant interest in him, however, had changed the playing field. He found himself interested in furthering their relationship, if she were for it. He needed to find a way to show her.

"And why would I do that?" Harry asked simply, staring at her as he freed her hands. She opened her eyes, and found herself quickly getting lost in his. She remained still as his hand found itself once again at her opening. He stroked her gently, his hand playing games with her body. Her breathing became heavy. She didn't fight him, but lay perfectly still – her bosom rising and falling in time with his motions.

"Because," she whispered, stifling a moan as his fingers began to work faster. "I – I tricked you." He was hitting all the right places. Within a few short seconds, she began to cry out his name as a new wave of ecstasy washed over her. She lay still for a moment, stunned by the intensity of her orgasm and that Harry would pleasure her like this, knowing full well who she was.

"You _are_beautiful," Harry said softly, gazing into her eyes; he found himself admiring her body. Her cheeks turned a vibrant crimson as she sat-up to gather her clothes. As she began to put her left arm through the sleeve of her robe, she looked at him. He held her wand in his hand, twirling it between his fingers like a freshly-caught Snitch. "I'd like to – "

"I'll just – " she began, reaching for her wand. "I'll just leave, I suppose." Her voice was shaky. She hadn't understood his message as clearly as he'd hoped.

"Polyjuice?" Harry asked, placing eleven inches of yew in her hand. She nodded and turned away. She had proven not only her daring, but her intellect. The Polyjuice Potion was not an easy potion to brew and the recipe itself was a very difficult one to acquire. Knowing all he'd known about her before, the words she spoke next could easily have triggered an apocalypse.

"I've wanted that – wanted _you_ for so long," she said, slumping against the wall. There was a hint of regret in her voice. "I had no chance, I know. I had to – " She stood to leave. "I'm sorry, Harry." Before Harry could reply, she ran out into the corridor.

Harry slipped into his robes and darted after her. He found that his notions about her had been a bit off. She was hardly the person he had expected her to be.

"Don't be," he called after her.

"Pardon?" She turned back toward him, a confused expression on her face. Harry took her hand in his. He could feel her shaking slightly from nervousness.

"Don't be sorry," he repeated, smiling. He relaxed a little as he rubbed the back of her hand reassuringly. Although she had tricked him, although she had taken on the guise of his best friend to be intimate with him, he found that he was grateful. He was grateful that he had not genuinely crossed the line with Hermione and grateful that he found that Pansy was someone he would like to cross the line with again.

"Thanks, I guess." There was an awkward silence between the two. Several times they cast a glance at one another, only to immediately turn away. After a moment, it became something of a game between them. It was Pansy who broke the silence with a soft giggle. "I think I love you," she said bashfully. A rosy colour immediately livened her visage.

"I'd say that's a possibility," Harry chuckled, letting his hands fall to his side. "We did just shag each other senseless, you know?"

"Yeah," she nodded, then with more confidence added, "that _is _true." As she turned once more to leave, he called her name.

"Pansy?" Her name rolled of his tongue differently now. For once it was sweet, like freshly picked strawberries rather than bitter like pickled tripe. He wanted to say it again and again; he wanted to know more about her. She had caught his interest in the least orthodox of ways – and he was all for it.

"Yeah?"

"I don't want to say too much, but I wouldn't be opposed to... you know." Harry said softly. " A second round sometime. Let's get together sometime."

"_You and me_?" Though he suspected she didn't intend to, she was smiling brightly. Harry could see the reflection of the hallway torches in her eyes. "Not you and Hermione?" He was glad she referred to her as Hermione, rather than as Granger. He was quickly learning that Pansy was a far more respectable person away from Draco Malfoy. Perhaps, Harry thought, her former hostility was a defence mechanism to hide her truer feelings.

"Yes, you and me. " Harry said, stepping closer. "We're friends now. You've opened a new door for me, Pansy. I love her, true, but Hermione and I – we're _just_ friends," he lied. He had some feelings for her that he rather did wish to explore, but her interest in Ron – and Ron's in her – made treading those waters more dangerous than worth his while. Cho had been a mistake; Ginny was _safe_. She had loved him, he had once thought that he loved her. Pansy, however, was full of possibilities.

"Yeah," she sighed, resting against him. "But we barely know each other."

"I'd say we've come to know each other pretty well, actually," Harry said with a grin. Pansy chuckled nervously, playing with a strand of her hair as she stared at the ground.

"So... where do we go from here?" she asked, pulling him into a hug. It was a bit awkward at first, but quickly became more natural. Harry squeezed her gently to let her know that they were now more than just friends. Pansy was beginning to learn that he spoke more with his actions that with his words.

"I could take you back to your common room," he said in a low voice, hoping that Peeves would leave them be. Both knew they tarried dangerously close to his usual patrol.

"I mean... _us._"

"Oh." Harry finally understood; Pansy laughed nervously. "I suppose we could start at hello."

"Okay, let's do that," she agreed, taking a large step backward. "Let's start at hello."

"Hello, then." Harry smiled and placed his hand on the small of her back, pulling her into a close embrace.

"Hi," she said, once again speaking in a voice that only he could hear. "Does 'hi' count?" She tilted her head upward to look at him. He kissed her softly on her right cheek, as though telling her there would be more. His warm breath once again sent her mind and body into a blissful oblivion. She kissed him hesitantly in return, almost doubting he would afford her the privilege.

"I'd say it's close enough," Harry said, smiling. Their minds were so tangled with the events of the evening and with one another that several minutes passed before either of them realised they were standing on the moving staircase nearest their destination. "How about we go out sometime? Do you like sweets?"

"Who doesn't?" She turned to him to wave goodbye before she slipped into the Slytherin Common Room. "And definitely. I'd like that a lot."

He watched her dark hair whip out of sight and began to make his way to his own bed. He wasn't really sure what would become of his freshly-started relationship, but he was looking forward to finding out. Sure, it'd take some time before he could trust her entirely, but he wanted this. He wanted her.

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><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: So, what are your thoughts? Was this worth reading? Leave a review.


	2. Betrayal of the Deceiver

Angel of Deception

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><p>Chapter II<p>

Betrayal of the Deceiver

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><p>She slipped her hand beneath her shirt and rubbed the sensitive skin of her belly. She felt a warmth building inside her as memories of the night before came rushing to he forefront of her mind. In her wildest dreams she never expected any such trickery to be so well received as it had been by the Boy Who Lived. She felt both terrified and excited at the prospects of a relationship with him. One one hand, she adored him, was both infatuated and slipping more deeply into a maddening love for him. On the other hand, she knew the repercussions of a relationship with a Gryffindor - especially a Gryffindor of only half-blood.<p>

She allowed her hand to wander a little; it slipped below her waist and began to explore her womanhood enthusiastically. As she lay, granting herself a small taste of ecstacy, she imagined it was his hand in motion, pleasuring her in a way only he ever had. No incanation, nor tricks from adult spell books had come close to the magic he had worked on her with no next to no effort.

Her hair fell in a dark cascade as her head hit her pillow; she pressed deeper inside herself, exploring with each finger a little more of her inner woman, desperately seeking those same feelings, same sensations she had felt only a few hours before. Her eyes shot open and her toes curled as she let out a squeak of surprise - it was there, just there, she thought to herself, and began to whisper her favourite things, favourite naughty little phrases to work herself up. She ran her arm up and down her body, caressing each nipple gently as her left hand came to the aid of her right.

She sighed softly, then moaned loudly as orgasm overcame her, rushing through her wave after wave until she felt her eyes roll to the back of her head. She lay still for a while, panting heavily as beads of sweat rolled off her forehead, dotting her Slytherin green silk sheets. When she caught her breath, she found herself grateful that she had mastered the the silencing spell and had placed dozens all around the perimeter of her four poster bed. She had been noisier when she was little. On several occasions, her mother - who insisted she be called Genevieve - raced into the room in panic after overhearing her screams. What "nightmares" those had been.

Pansy closed her eyes and, slowly taking in a deep breath, sat-up. She looped her hair behind her ears as she pulled the curtains of her bed open. Her dormitory was deserted. It was already nearing midday. She slipped into a daydream as she slipped out of the room and into the shower.

It would be soon that they could see each other again, she hoped. She wanted to tell the wizarding world the newest news in the goings-on of her love life, but found herself unwilling to betray the little trust she had with Harry. Her time to gloat would be soon enough, she mused, but for now she would keep her silence on the matter. It would be something they would reveal publicly when both felt it appropriate.

Both he and she were starting their seventh and final years at the wizarding school Hogwarts, and the pressure of the war against He Who Must Not Ne Named was mounting.

Already one attack against the school had failed. Harry, a few of his friends, and the school staff, fought back a sorry attempt by a mousy man named Pettigrew and a few of his fellow Death Eaters to abduct him and Hermione. For some strange reason, Pansy had noticed, their interest in the red-headed Weasley boy seemed minimal.

Hot water ran down her back, running smoothly off the curve of her arse; she pressed her forehead against the cold tile of the shower wall. Her thoughts again went to Harry. She could see his green eyes reflected in the water pooling around her feet. Pansy picked-up the bottle of shampoo from beside her and opened it. After lathering copious amounts of it into her hair, she ran her fingers through her locks, letting a little of the foam collect on the back of her hand. She rubbed the excess around her breasts, playing with the tips a little. They were pert, a little more sensitive than she could remember them ever being. She entertained the thought of playing with herself a while longer before she rinsed her hair and stepped from the shower.

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><p>It was eerily silent in the corridors as she made her way to the Great Hall. Neither portrait nor Peeve's stirred as she stepped up the last few steps and strode into immediate horror. The bodies of a half-dozen first and second year students were hanged, headless, by their ankles. Their corpses swayed a little in the air, the last few drops of their blood pooled with the rest of the crimson death that had overtaken the once beautiful stone floor. The great oak doors were wide open, gusts of wind occasionally creating slow ripples in the thickening blood.<p>

Teachers and students alike raced about her, doing anything they could to help free the students from their magical bonds. Professor Sinistra began to push all the students away, pushing them gently in the way of their common rooms. Whatever had happened here was not pleasant, and if the current demonstration of the magical effort on part of the Hogwart's staff were any rule to measure by, it had occurred without witness.

"Ms. Parkinson," sniffed the Headmistressl, with her wand drawn before her, fresh tears running down her face. Though Pansy was not terribly fond of the woman, her former transfiguration teacher, it was only after seeing her emotions that she felt her own overflow within her. A sprinkling of wetness dotted her Slytherin pin. "Would you please step aside - and return to your common room." She turned to the rest of the crowd. "All of you, please return to your common rooms. Your Heads of Houses will be with you shortly."

Pansy backed herself up against the cold stone wall and caught a glimpse of Harry and Hermione, reluctantly retreating in obedience to their Transfiguration professor.

"Ron doesn't even know what's going on," Hermione grumbled, flipping the page of her latest read with a frown. "He's still stuffing his face. How much sausage can he eat?"

"I expect that's what he's trying to find out," Harry said playfully. Hermione swatted him on his shoulder, rolling her eyes. Harry chuckled softly, then darted forward to make-up the several steps he'd fallen behind her. Pansy crept behind them, careful to avoid distracting them from their conversation. She needed to speak with Harry alone; she hoped, though she knew it wasn't terribly likely, that Hermione would unknowingly afford her a moment with her midnight lover.

There was a moment of silence as Harry continued his return to the Gryffindor common room. He paused for a moment, then turned to Hermione. Before he could open his mouth, she cut him off.

"Just say it," she breathed, stopping mid-step. As she turned to face Harry, Pansy ducked behind a suit of armour and out of sight. She bumped the sword on her way into cover, but neither of those whom she stalked gave any notice. "You've been acting strangely all morning."

Harry remained silent, obviously warring with his thoughts. He normally spoke that which was on his mind with nay a second thought, but whatever words rested at the forefront of his mind came with hesitation. He toyed with the thought of keeping quiet, of passing off the dream as mere nonsense, but everything he could remember about it seemed too real.

"I had a dream last night," said Harry. He was nearly whispering. The tones in his voice sent shivers down Pansy's spine as the last wave of students passed them by. There was a little hope within her that he would explain his encounter with Pansy the night before and that everything thereafter would be a delightful _happily __ever __after_. The bitter Slytherin inside her, however, knew otherwise. "It was - "

"You dream about Voldemort all the time." Hermione cut him off before he could even finish his sentence. She was practically ignoring him. She was upset; she didn't understand, but how could she? She didn't know.

"Yeah," Harry continued in a low voice, "but not that - _vividly__._" He took her hand and held it gently in his. Her fierce attitude dropped almost entirely, her brown eyes met his and stared. Her confusion was obvious.

"I don't understand," she said, studying him.

"It wasn't Voldemort in my dreams last night."

Harry brushed a few strands of stray hair from Hermione's cheek, curling them tenderly behind her ear. She looked a little taken aback, but her eyes showed that she was beginning to understand what Harry was saying. Pansy could almost see the cogs in her head spinning.

"And what - what do you - " Hermione stammered through her words, staring intently into Harry's eyes. The book she held in her hand fell to the floor, it's pages fanning open as its spine slid a few inches from impact. "A dream, right?"

She grinned shyly as she began kneeling in an attempt to rescue _Men __Who __Love __Dragons __Too __Much _from beside her feet.

Pansy turned to leave; a teardrop fell to the back of her hand. Confused and heartbroken, she made her escape to the confines of her own common room. Did he really believe it had been all a dream? Had he forgotten her entirely? _She _was the one he had made love to; _she _was the one whom he'd loved so dearly. Perhaps she had deceived only herself, she thought bitterly as she rounded the corner.

"I've had dreams too," Hermione admitted softly. "Mostly I dream I've lost you; you're dead or dying, and there's nothing I can do to save you." She paused for a moment to gauge Harry's reaction. "But every once in a while, it's different. You and I are in a beach house somewhere, or in a cottage up in the mountains, but we're always - it's always the same dream."

"You, too, then?"

"I suppose so." Even in the dim torchlight, Harry could see that Hermione was blushing. "Then, you won't mind?"

"Mind what, exactly?"

"This," Hermione said in a soft whisper, wrapping her arms around his neck. She tilted her head just a little, letting her lips brush against his. Her heart nearly stopped; he was not kissing her in return.

He was completely still, motionless. She would have doubted he were breathing if she could not see the rise and fall of his chest. His mouth opened and closed once again. She swallowed thickly and stepped back from him.

"This changes everything," Harry said, obviously deep in thought.

"I'm sorry - " Hermione begin to sob softly. She fought the urge to flee to solitude, to hide herself from him forever. She could be anywhere else - anywhere but here, in front of him. She feared that she had taken things one step too far. "I shouldn't have - I just thought - "

At that Harry took a very fast step forward, pulling her into an intimate embrace.

"No," Harry chuckled. "_I__'__m _sorry. I'm sorry I've been so daft." Harry shook his head against hers, then pulled it back enough to touch his nose against hers. "I love you, Hermione," he was giddy with delight.

"You - what?" Hermione struggled to wipe away her tears. The space between them was minimal, nearly non-existent.

"I love you, Hermione." He bowed his head and kissed Hermione as thoroughly as his joy-clouded mind would let him. Unlike he had before, she returned the favour; a soft breath of relief escaped her lips as they broke apart. "I love you like that," he said, as if further clarification were necessary.

"Not like a sister?"

"Never like a sister," Harry replied, kissing her once again. He would never tell that lie again. "Not even if I tried." He had tried, too, for nearly seven years. It had torn him apart to do so, but her apparent interest in Ron had kept him at bay.

Ron was now otherwise occupied and whatever interest she had had in him, had there ever really been any there, had dissipated. Ron was busy, very busy with Lavender Brown. His time spent with her had afforded Harry and Hermione lazy afternoons alone in the library or common room, studying or chatting about the silliest things. Hermione had been his best friend, but now she was so much more.

She snuggled against him, smiling widely.

She was his. The girl he had fallen so deeply in love with was finally his. This was not a dream, no delusion, Harry thought gratefully, relishing in every second of it. He had finally told Hermione what he felt for her, and she felt the same way for him. As he levitated the book behind them and made his retreat to the common room with her hand in his, the faint memories of the other girl in his dream vanished quickly away.

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><p>As Harry and Hermione snuggled on the most comfortable armchair in the common room. Ron made his way to them, dragging his precious Lavender behind him. She giggled loudly and gasped in excitement as she saw Gryffindor's newest couple. They were not the only ones staring, though. Ginny, from a far corner of the room, unbeknownst to those around her, was sobbing quietly.<p>

There was a considerable amount of chatter among the students, as there was quite a bit to discuss. A sextuple murder had occurred below them, without notice of student or staff. Whoever had done it could easily be hiding in their very midst. Harry tried not to be distracted by anything or anyone else, but even with Hermione right beside him, his mind was beginning to wander.

The painting of the Fat Lady swung open; Headmistress McGonagall stepped inside, Professor Ruthport, the newest professor to take the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, following closely behind her. It was apparent she had an announcement to make, and Harry feared the worst. Would his safe-haven close to protect its students?

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><p><strong>Author<strong>**'****s ****Note****: **So, as I'm sure you've begun to notice, this story is quite alternate universe as far as the pairings are going. For those trying to pinpoint exactly when this story occurs, imagine it as Harry's new seventh year - a seventh year he actually intended to spend at Hogwarts. Much of the sixth book did not happen, for the sake of this story, but I'll let the storytelling itself tell you what's going on as this story progresses.


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